"In This Sanctuary": a litany

[bronze_ribbons]

This litany was written by my minister, the Reverend Gail Seavey. It was read at our water communion services this morning in place of our usual "Joys and Concerns" ritual, with the minister and the Religious Education director alternating lines, and adding several more specific to our community ("In this sanctuary sits a man who sees the flowers in memory of his father...").

One of the lay ministers lit a candle for each line, and the pianist played throughout. The refrain was a Taize tune sung by the congregation ("De Noche," #1034 in Singing the Journey). This is posted here with her permission.

Week after week, Joys and Concerns are written out on yellow paper, and spoken out loud. Today I invite you to offer your written prayers to the bowl that is passed during the offertory. We do this occasionally because, week after week, most of our Joys and Concerns sit privately in our hearts, too tender to be spoken out loud. Today, let Marguerite [our DRE] and me presume to excavate our hearts. Let us dare to bring some of those closely held Joys and Concerns up into the realm of air and light.

In this sanctuary sits a child confused by changes in his or her family beyond his control, and another who feel secure.

Far from this sanctuary sits a child frightened by bombs that seem to come from nowhere for no reason, and another who sleeps peacefully in safety.

In this sanctuary sits a woman longing to be a mother, and another who is relieved not to be.

Far from this sanctuary sits a mother keening over the death of her toddler who was killed in the tsunami that destroyed their village, and another who celebrates that all hers have been found alive.

In this sanctuary sits a man who is ill, but too proud to ask for help, and another who is grateful for the new life that healing has brought him.

Far from this sanctuary sits a man who asks for help, and no one comes, and another who finds fulfillment in helping others.

(refrain:

By night, we hasten, in darkness
to search for living water.
Only our thirst leads us onward.)

In this sanctuary sits an anxious father who is denied guardianship of the children he raises as his own, and another who feels the miracle of love given by his stepchildren.

Far from this sanctuary sits a crying child whose parents have died from the AIDS epidemic, and another who was hungry and is now contentedly well fed.

In this sanctuary sits a man who has been laid off from his job and is giving up the hope of finding a new one, and another who gives thanks that he finally has a job that is fulfilling.

Far from this sanctuary sits a lonely woman who moved far from all she loves so that she can support herself, and another who has found joy in the new friends she is making.

In this sanctuary sits a family whose home was destroyed in the Gulf hurricane and is building a whole new life, and another who is still in shock and profoundly homesick for their old life.

Far from this sanctuary sit people who did not get along at all, forced to work in great discomfort together by the destruction of their city, and others who have found new meaning to their lives as they work with people they never knew before.

(refrain)

In this sanctuary and far from it sit citizens falling into cynicism, and citizens renewing their commitment to democratic action.

In this sanctuary and far from it are helpers too exhausted to go on, and others being renewed for the long work ahead.

In this sanctuary and far from it are men, women, youth, and children, who are too traumatized or too comfortable, all too frightened to open their eyes to see the sorrows and concerns of others cutting themselves off from their own joy, and there are others who have the courage to see, to feel, to cry for all that is grievous, and to celebrate all that is good in this life.

I invite each of you who has seen another's joy or sorrow and responded with your own joy or concern to bring the names of those people into this sanctuary. Let us all say those names together at the same time, making this space holy. This last candle is for them.

The congregation murmured dozens of names as the lay minister lit the final candle, and then sang the refrain once more. The minister concluded with the following "pastoral prayer and affirmation":

Let us tenderly care for each person we meet as though they carry the inarticulate cries of the greatest joy and most profound sorrow in their heart, for indeed, they do. Blessed be and amen.

Comments

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

That's beautiful. Thank you for sharing that.

[mechaieh.livejournal.com]

She offers versions of this from time to time. It never fails to move me.